


Calendar Boy

by darter_blue



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Miscommunication, Photography, Underwear Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-17 17:26:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12370494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darter_blue/pseuds/darter_blue
Summary: It was supposed to be totally innocent. A friend of Lardo’s was putting together a little project, compiling a calendar of some of the openly gay athletes on campus, fundraising for the LGBTQ+ community outreach programs at Samwell.Bitty hadn't really even been reluctant. Excited about the prospect of a fun photo shoot and a chance to dress up a bit, do something glamorous.And he thinks it's a great photo (if not a bit more revealing than what he was expecting…).  And when the calendar comes out it’s nerve racking but exciting. Until one by one the team finds a copy (Jack may be hiding one under his mattress), and then it's pandemonium.or the one where Bitty is Mr August and Jack finally loses the battle of his hard faught control over a harmless little calendar





	1. Shoot

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks to Ngozi for creating these wonderful characters for us to play with.
> 
> I have this written, will be posting updates every few days.
> 
> I like to keep y'all in suspense ;)
> 
> (Apologies for any Australian spelling, I have bad habits, and little patience)

**Bitty**

 

Eric Richard Bittle has been at Samwell University for over a year now. One of his favourite things about the Samwell campus, being as inclusive as it is, is that he can wear his short shorts in the summer and feel totally free of judgement and ridicule. Something he never quite has back at home in Georgia. It’s not that he doesn’t still dress that way when he’s home, Bitty is almost always one hundred percent himself, it’s just that dressing that way in Georgia will always have him looking over his shoulder. But here, at Samwell, Bitty knows he has nothing to fear.

 

And so Bitty has embraced his fashionable sensibilities. He used some of the money his mama sent him for the really good chocolate (it’s okay, he’ll focus on fruit and pumpkin pies for fall anyway, save the chocolate silk for a really special occasion) to buy a ridiculously large collection of Calvin Klein, micro, hip briefs from an online outlet store when they discontinued the line. When they arrive and he rips into the box, it’s love at first sight. They’re tiny, so tiny that they sit low on his hips and high at the leg, perfect to wear under his little shorts for summer. And then, well, he has so many pairs and they’re all just so new and comfy, all kinds of colours and patterns, that he takes to wearing them under pretty much everything.

 

Bitty can especially appreciate their skimpiness because he’s been working hard at keeping his body in shape. This is partly because, for Bitty, keeping at peak fitness has always been a necessity (you don’t become a figure skating regional finalist without discipline and hard work), and partly because, in a house full of hockey boys, keeping your skills sharp and your body sharper is (apart from essential to keeping his scholarship) the centre of many a friendly rivalry. And now that Bitty is growing up a bit (he’s almost twenty now, teen suffix be gone! Welcome to adulthood!) his body is finally filling out a bit too. He’s still effeminate and slight enough in body type to insight negative gender stereotyping from the closed minded, but it comes with more strength behind it now, enough that his muscles are defined and visible beneath his toned, tanned flesh. So when Lardo’s friend, Alice, asks Bitty to be involved in her senior project for social change, a calendar of the openly gay athletes on campus that will raise funds for the LGBTQ+ support groups and event management at Samwell, he is quietly excited at the prospect of being on display, and hopes that whatever they choose to dress him in will show off all his hard work (and accentuate his _ass_ ets).

 

Admittedly, he’s nervous. Bitty isn’t used to being the centre of attention. Having Jack Zimmerman (veritable hockey royalty and greek god look alike) captaining your hockey team, living in the same house, ingratiating himself into your kitchen ever more completely every day, is enough to have anyone feeling invisible. Not to mention the rest of the team, most of whom weigh almost twice as much as he does and carry three times the muscle mass (he gets lost amongst them, frankly). It’s a struggle to keep his hands from shaking.

    ‘Don’t be nervous, Bitty,’ Lardo says quietly, expertly applying soft foundation and as minimal eyeliner and mascara (brown, not black, to compliment his fair hair and diminishing tan) as Alice will allow her to get away with, ‘you’re going to look so good. And it’s all for a good cause, right?’

    ‘Right.’ Eric replies with an affirming breath in and out. ‘It’s just a cute little photo, it’s nothing crazy.’ It’s a statement not a question, but he looks to Lardo for confirmation just the same.

    ‘Exactly. I won’t let them do anything to embarrass you, bro. Promise.’ Bitty beams at his friend. Of course she has his back; Lardo is a wonderful person.

    ‘Eric,’ Emmett, one of the only four other people (apart from Bitty himself) in the studio for the shoot, calls out as he comes over with some costume pieces. ‘Did you bring your hockey gear?’

    ‘I sure did,’ Bitty iterates happily, ‘and Bitty is fine.’

    ‘Bitty?’

    ‘Hockey nickname,’ Lardo explains, finally finished with her application of Bitty’s stage makeup.

    ‘Is that a thing?’ Emmett asks dubiously. He and Vince, the other assistant on hand today, are friends of Alice and Lardo, fellow artists and card carrying members of the Samwell LGBTQ+ community. Bitty has found them to be somewhat ignorant to the quirks of what his defencemen lovingly refer to as ‘hockey shit’.

    ‘You bet, honey,’ Bitty says with a smile, ‘everybody gets one.’

    ‘Well at least “Bitty” suits you.’ Emmett says with a wry grin.

    ‘Met me twenty minutes ago and he’s chirping me already,’ Bitty says playfully, ‘honestly!’ Emmett laughs at Bitty’s mock offense and makes his way to the gestured hockey bag, pulling his stick from the duffel and eyeing it warily.

    ‘This will work, I think,’ he mumbles, lost in thought as Bitty looks to the outfit Emmett had handed him. Which is socks. And only socks.

    ‘Uh...do these go with the rest of my outfit, or am I just getting into my uniform,’ Bitty asks the room, confused as to the direction they might be going with this photoshoot. It was supposed to be somewhat glamorous, wasn’t it? His hockey uniform was certainly lacking in that department...

    ‘They _are_ your outfit, hun!’ Alice cries as she bustles back into the room with her tripod. ‘You can just go ahead and strip down.’

    Bitty perhaps resembles a deer in headlights at this information. ‘Um-’ He looks to Lardo who is smiling and nodding in what she probably thinks is a supportive manner. ‘Uh… what’s that now?’

    ‘Everyone’s basically in their knickers for this Calendar, Eric,’ Alice says, equal parts amused and patient.

    ‘...Bitty is fine…’ He says, studying the socks in his hand, that seem to be almost as long as his legs.

    ‘You okay, Bits?’ Lardo asks under her breath.

    ‘Yeah… umm… I guess I just hadn’t realised…’ At this point, Bitty’s nerves are getting the better of him, he’s glancing around furtively (the other three seem busy with preparations, bless them) and his heart rate has picked up.

    ‘Okay,’ Lardo says, taking his free hand, ‘okay, Eric Bittle, you just need to ask yourself one question.’ Eric is nodding, matching Lardo’s breathing, willing himself to be _chill_. She catches his gaze and holds it, ‘what would Beyonce do?’ And of course they’re the magic words. Because Queen B is a consummate professional. She is a Diva. She would strip right down and make those socks look fabulous! So that is exactly what Bitty is going to do. And he does, pulling on the custom made hockey socks and smoothing out the gentle elastic at mid thigh.

 

A reverent silence seems to settle over the room as Bitty gets down to his admittedly tiny underwear (classic white is what he went with this morning), and he looks up at the strangely slack jawed faces of Lardo and the crew with a raised eyebrow.

    ‘What is it?’ He asks, quickly dashing to the full length mirror in the middle of the studio floor to spin around and find whatever it is on his person that might be offensive.

    ‘Holy shit, dude.’ Lardo says, looking Bitty up and down.

    ‘You look amazing!’ Vince says, somewhat breathless. Emmett whispers a ‘wow’ quite discreetly, gripping Bitty’s hockey stick with two hands.

    ‘We are going to make so much money!” Alice exclaims, clapping her hands and then urging everyone to get to work. Bitty isn’t really sure what’s happening, but for the rest of the shoot, he just can’t stop smiling.  

  
  


**Jack**

 

Jack has a bad habit of being keenly aware of Eric Bittle (and all things related to Eric Bittle) at any given point on any given day. It’s a habit he has spent an inordinately large amount of his time trying to break. And the very same amount of time failing to. Always failing. Jack hates to fail. So for a long time he had also entertained the awful habit of pushing Bittle away. He used the tools that would have crushed Jack, belittlement and degradation, but Bittle was surprisingly resilient. And every refusal to give in to Jack’s pushing just fueled Jack’s want and need. It was a vicious cycle, that ended with Bittle’s concussion on the ice, recovery over the summer at home in Georgia, and Jack’s decision to spend this next year (his last as Bittle’s teammate) making it up to him.

 

Two months in and Eric’s checking practice is back on track. He won't lose his scholarship, Jack will get him back on his line and he’s finally coming to terms with his inability to get Bittle off his mind. He’s decided to work with his obsession instead of against it. Which means spending more time with Eric in the kitchen, watching him bake. It means walking with Eric to class, actively listening and even participating in conversations in and around him. It is, in fact, sort of refreshing.

 

What he does have to control though, is his urge to look and to touch. He has to keep his hands at his sides whenever he’s within critical Bittle reaching distance, he has to turn his head away and avert his eyes in the locker room and at the breakfast table. Sometimes on the couch he will catch his eyes just gravitating to the sunkissed warmth of all of Bittle’s exposed flesh (and in the summer, there’s just _so_ much of it. Jack has never been more conflicted at seeing in the start of the cooler weather). It’s distracting, sure, but Jack has learnt that if he doesn’t try so hard to clamp it down, to push it away, his feelings become more manageable. Indulging in his Bittle cravings is really an exercise in moderation. And Jack Zimmermann is the king of moderation.

 

Being as hyper aware of Eric as he is, Jack is the first to notice Bittle and Lardo’s heightened levels of excitement and camaraderie when they make it home from their excursion, date, thing… whatever it was that they had been doing so secretly. He isn’t the only one though. And he’s glad, because it means he doesn’t have to be the one to ask.

    ‘Well, well,well… What’s got you two all giddy?’ Asks Holster, as his giant frame strides through the kitchen in search of stray food.

    ‘None of your beeswax, Mister Birkholtz,’ Eric replies, southern drawl ever more apparent when it’s teasing one of his teammates. ‘Just you get yourself outta my kitchen, I've got cooking to do.’

    ‘Uh-uh. Something’s up with you two,’ Holster says, crossing his arms over his impressive pectorals (they actually put Jack’s to shame, maybe he should be increasing his weights again). ‘Rans!’ he calls as Ransom comes crashing down the stairs, ‘Come and help me figure out what’s going on with Bitty and Lardo!’

    ‘What’s going on with Bitty and Lardo?’ Ransom asks innocently.

    ‘Exactly, man. Exactly.’ To anyone else the conversation might seem one sided, but these two share a creepy, hockey defenceman connection (Jack’s dad swears it’s a legitimate thing) and don’t actually require spoken words to communicate.

    ‘Spill, Bits!’ Ransom says passionately. He really doesn’t like to be kept out of the loop.

    ‘Nothing is going on, shoo, all of you.’ Jack wouldn’t believe him even if he couldn’t see the whole body blush that Bittle is suddenly sporting. Lardo’s lip is quirked to the left, which Jack knows from years of watching her pine for Shitty (a piner always knows a piner) is a tell. She and Bitty have been somewhere. Doing something they don’t want to talk about. Jack feels a twitch in his eyelid, it’s not really jealousy, but it’s close. It only takes Shitty to barrel in from outside and find them all in the Kitchen, Lardo with her suspicious smirk, Bitty flushed with some unnamed embarrassment, Rans and Holtz with their arms crossed and eyebrows raised, and Jack, sitting alone at the table, eye twitching like it's been tasered, to escalate everything. By the time Shitty has Lardo squealing on the floor in a tickle hold, Ransom and Holster have trapped Bitty in a headlock and are threatening his hair with permanent noogie damage. Jack has backed himself up to the doorway to watch from a safe distance.

    ‘Alright!’ Bitty cries. ‘For the love of pie! Get off’a me!’ which effectively ceases all activity and calls all eyes to Bitty. ‘I was helping a friend of Lardo’s with a class project!’

    ‘What project?’ Jack asks suspiciously.

    ‘An art project?’ Ransom adds.

    ‘A naked art project?’ Holster is quick to elaborate, wiggling his eyebrows. Jack tries very hard to clamp down on the sudden imagery that flashes through his mind at that suggestion.

Lardo has tossed Shitty aside and is brushing herself off as she stands to stare intimidatingly at the boys in the kitchen.

    ‘Social Science.’ She says finally, after a brief but awkward silence. The information is met with some incredulity.

    ‘Why’d you have to get nude for social science Bits?’ Holtz asks, which seems like a ridiculous question, even given that Jack can tell he’s joking.

    ‘I did not get _nude_!’ Bitty huffs, his delicate hands clenching into fists. ‘I’ll have you know it was very tasteful.’ He finishes with his chin in the air.

    Which is the moment the kitchen explodes into chaos.


	2. Cut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Check out this beautiful piece of fanart:
> 
> <http://aastronico.tumblr.com/image/168157923947> 
> 
> so amazed by the response to this fic and all the love from you guys, especially to inspire somone so talented to create something this amazing.
> 
> Thank you, thank you so much ★~(◡ω◡✿)
> 
>  
> 
> xxx

**Bitty**

 

Bitty hadn’t really intended to tell anyone about the Calendar. Because, honestly, the chirping from the boys was gonna be endless. But it had just kind of, slipped out. At the mention of the favour he had done for Lardo’s friend (‘Alice, Holster, it was for fucking, _Alice_ , please calm your tits!’ Lardo is not impressed with the team right now) being ‘tasteful’ (admittedly not a great adjective, Bitty) Ransom, Holster and Shitty have all screamed ‘What!’ with impressive synchronicity. Jack remains stoically planted in the doorway of the Kitchen, but something weird is going on with his eyelid. Bitty is overwhelmed by limbs and chests and one surprisingly soft moustache as the boys crowd in and questions fly at him with rapid fire.

    ‘Tasteful? What the fuck, Bitty? did you pose for a portrait?’ Ransom

    ‘How not nude is tasteful, Bits, are we talking like… strategically placed fruit or what?’ Holster.

    ‘Bitty Bittle, you gorgeous mother fucker. What the fuck have you done?’ Shitty.

    ‘A sculpture?’ Ransom.

    ‘Motivational video?’ Still Ransom.

    ‘Is this even a real tan? Did you get a fake tan for this, Bitty?’ Holster.

    ‘Eric. Richard. Bittle. Tell me what you’ve done this instant!’ Shitty.

Lardo is rolling her eyes with constant and excessive force. Jack remains irritatingly silent, the only minutia of his movement, the steady tick, tick, tick of his eyelid. It’s incredibly distracting. Not that every gosh-darn thing about Jack Zimmerman isn’t, but this is just particularly grating on Bitty right now.

    ‘Hush! All of y’all!’ Bitty cries into the madness. ‘Okay, in order now- do not!’ Bitty points his finger menacingly at Holster as he goes to speak, ‘interrupt me. Okay, from the top.’ he ticks them off on his fingers as he goes. ‘It was a photoshoot. I was wearing a hockey uniform’ (He prays that his expression doesn’t give away _that_ blatant exaggeration). ‘It’s for Alice’s Sociology project about openly gay athletes in college sports programs. Excuse you,’ pointing again at Holster here, ‘but this is very much a real tan, you blasphemist. And, Shitty, I very kindly offered to let Alice use my photos in her project _if_ they suit and _if_ I don’t end up looking ridiculous in them.’ Bitty takes a deep breath at the culmination of these replies and then sits himself down with a huff.

 

The room take their time to absorb this information and eventually (after another hundred questions and demands for a blow by blow description of the proceedings. All denied) seem satisfied by it, trailing out one by one to get busy with their own cacophony of college to-do’s. Even Lardo leaves Bitty to get dinner started without distraction. Everyone has left, bar Jack, who takes it upon himself to come and sit by Bitty at the table.

    ‘So…’ He starts tentatively. Which, well, Bitty knows Jack can be awkward, but he’s not usually tentative.

    ‘So…? What’s on your mind, Jack?’ Bitty treats him a bit gingerly, not wanting to scare him away. Wanting, quite selfishly, to keep him close like this for as long as possible.

    ‘Would you…’ Jack pauses and then appears to steel himself and start again, ‘when you get the photos if you get a copy that is, would you let me, ah, _us_ … let _us_ see them?’ Jack looks a little sheepish as he asks this, shrinking into his shoulders and averting his eyes.  Bitty tries not to seem as shocked by the request as he actually feels, but it’s also, sort of, endearing. Jack, who’d been so scary and antagonistic when Bitty first arrived, but who had become increasingly warmer and more approachable of late (especially over the summer and into this new school year). He tries to pull together an answer that won’t seem cagey. Because, well, he’s not sure he _does_ want Jack to see these photos. He’s not so much ashamed of them as he just doesn’t want to make a fuss. Though truthfully, he’s a little bit scared of how they will react to the frankly in-your-face portrayal of his sexuality in the photos. He knows, theoretically that the team is very supportive, they have never shied away from Bitty’s being openly gay, but some of those poses were quite suggestive… and that’s not necessarily something Bitty has any experience dealing with. Like any experience, in a literal sense. He has, lets say, a small amount of experience in sexually _adjacent_ activities. Just nothing that would require an explicit rating.

 

So Bitty’s first instinct is to say no. But his hesitation has done something to Jack, the softness in his expression is closing over and will soon be replaced by the steady hardness that can usually be found there. And Bitty is loath to be the one responsible for bringing it back.

    ‘Let’s make a deal.’ Bitty offers, filling the silence with his warm Georgian drawl (sometimes he pulls on those vowels just a little, if only to encourage softness into the hard lines of Jack’s face). ‘Like I said, Alice might not even use them but,’ he looks up into the icy blue of Jack’s iris’ and smiles at the incredulous rise of his right eyebrow, ‘If I get a copy and they aren’t absolutely ridiculous, then you will be the first person to see them, Jack,’ he moves just a little closer so that his knee is pressed gently into Jack’s thigh, ‘I promise.’

   

Jack places one arm on the back of Bitty’s chair and the other flat on the table in front of them, so that he is essentially boxing Bitty in, and leans slightly further towards Bitty’s than he is used to, a very slight, but wry grin on his stupidly handsome face.

‘I will hold you to that, Bittle.’ He says, low and husky, just a hint of his French-Canadian accent in the clipped sharpness of his consonants. Bitty has to hold his breath to avoid sucking it in with a sharp hiss. He closes his eyes for just a fraction of a second too long to be a blink, drawing air in slowly through his nose. Which might be a mistake, because now he can smell the sweat that lingers just under the scent of Jack’s deodorant. It's heady and masculine and it stirs something in Bitty that has been sitting, waiting for the agitation, patient but all too present there.

 

Bitty isn’t sure what makes him say it, perhaps his little soiree into stardom is going to his head, but he swallows and tilts his chin with confidence.

‘I look forward to that, _Zimmermann_.’

Jack grins and shakes his head, standing up from the table and away from Bitty, the loss of contact is tangible. He claps a hand to Bitty’s shoulder as he walks away.

    Bitty watches him leave and stares at the empty space with something like longing but equally like fear. That, whatever that strange tension was, might be a problem. Like, almost definitely will be, a problem.

 

**Jack**

 

Jack knows the moment he sees Bitty walk into the kitchen that he has the photos. He looks nervous, there’s a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead. But he’s also excited, a beautiful pink flush in his cheeks, the warmth in his dark brown eyes is practically ablaze. He locks eyes on Jack and they widen impossibly further, his eyebrows shooting into his hairline and his smile reaching out to his ears.

    ‘Jack! Oh my god, Jack!’ He throws himself into the kitchen and well into Jack’s space, grabbing at his arms and talking a mile a minute. ‘Ha! I’m August! Can you believe it! They turned out so good, Jack!’ Jack is caught up in the energy, even though he has absolutely no idea what Bitty is talking about.

    ‘Of course they turned out great.’ Jack scoffs, at least understanding from the exuberant babbling that he has seen the photos and he’s obviously happy with them. ‘You’re the most photogenic person I’ve ever met, Bittle.’

    ‘I am not, you big softie.’ Bitty says, pushing at Jack’s shoulder and tucking his chin into his shoulder. Jack’s possibly never seen Bitty look so bashful and it’s adorable. No, not adorable, Bitty is not adorable. He’s… well he’s… Jack will have to come up with something later. Right now, Bitty is like the personification of sunshine, and Jack can barely remember his own name in the wake of it, let alone come up with adjectives to describe his teammate that aren’t demonstrative of his giant crush. He shakes his head a little, probably looking to all the world (read, Bitty) like a golden retriever full of nervous, ball induced excitement.

    ‘So?’ Jack says, breaking through the almost tension and stepping towards Bitty in anticipation of being shown the photo’s. ‘I recall a certain promise made in this very kitchen not four weeks ago, Eric Bittle.’

    ‘Ah, yes.’ Jack might be imagining Bitty’s already flushed cheeks blushing even further. ‘Okay, but you can’t laugh.’ he says, suddenly serious.

    ‘I wouldn’t laugh at you,’ Jack says with sincerity, ‘why? Are they funny? Are they supposed to be funny?’ Jack is suddenly nervous now about the probability that he will somehow react entirely inappropriately. He of all people knows how scary it can be to have private aspects of yourself exposed publicly. And just because he doesn’t want Bitty to know how deep his feelings run, doesn’t mean he wants to embarrass him either.

    ‘No! Lord no, they’re supposed to be… well, I mean, it’s a calendar… you know-’

    ‘It’s a calendar?’ Jack says, surprised. Bitty had never mentioned that it was a calendar. And he looks... sheepish. So of course Jack’s palms are sweating with a now intense need to see the pictures.  

    ‘Yeah. It’s not totally ready yet, but Alice gave me a copy of the mock up version that went to the printer,’ Bitty has looked away to pull something wide and flat from his messenger bag, ‘here, but-’ he holds off passing them over to Jack with one finger in the air, ‘-these are for your eyes only. I don’t want any of those boys to know about this, Jack. I’ll never hear the end of it.’

Jack is certain Bitty is right about that. He nods and holds out his hand, totally aware that he would agree to just about anything at the moment if it means he gets to see these photos.

    ‘Okay. Here goes nothing.’ Bitty huffs out a breath and passes the package to Jack, who places the folder onto the kitchen table and maneuvers around so that they stand side by side looking down at it. He opens it with the kind of reverence that has, in his life to date, been reserved exclusively for hockey. It’s worrying actually, that Jack is in fact zero percent surprised or worried by that realisation. He flicks carefully through the first few months; photo’s, good photo’s (he know’s a little about that now), of both men and women that Jack has seen around campus and in the gym, running track and swimming. They have been shot in a flattering light, most of them in some (albeit skimpier) version of their athletic accoutrements. They each have one prominent picture and then two or three smaller shots underneath (depending on the width of the shots used) and then the calendar month is on the page below. And suddenly Jack understands what Bitty meant when he said he was ‘August’ and that they looked ‘so good’. Fucking hell. The photos could be described as ‘so good’ in the same way that Bitty’s, blue ribbon winning, Georgia peach pie could be described as ‘edible’.

 

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/pwfy0BM)

    Jack doesn’t say anything so much as he just kind of sinks into a chair at the table. Bitty hasn’t moved from his spot next to Jack, but his hands are twisting around each other in an obviously nervous gesture. And Jack has nothing to say to ease it, because every milligram of brain tissue in his head has been forced out his ears and is pooling at his feet. The world outside of he and Bitty just doesn’t exist anymore. His eyes are glued to the image of Bitty on the page, dressed down into nothing but the smallest pair of briefs that Jack has ever seen. He’s standing against a white, full length, cheval mirror, leaning a little with his left hand so that his body tilts slightly right to the camera. His right arm is flush to his body, and his right knee slightly bent, balanced on pointed toes. The room is white around him and it makes the full expanse of all that toned, tanned skin glow through the frame. The shot has been captured from behind, so Bitty’s pert, perfect ass is prominent, but his reflection shows the soft slim lines of his waist and stomach, the gentle definition of the muscles that Jack knows are there (Bitty is probably the fittest, fastest member of the team), delicate pink nipples set onto a small but strong chest, sharp collar bones that scream for Jack to set his teeth around them, and tight, rounded shoulders that lead into the sleek muscles of Bitty’s beautiful arms (built by baking).

 

But it’s his legs, so long and lean, hockey socks that run all the way up to his thighs (thighs that should be _illegal_ ) that have Jack’s breath caught in his throat. Legs that sometimes find themselves in Jack’s lap on the couch. Legs that gracefully glide their owner around the floor of the kitchen. Legs that, in the summer, stretch all the way up into Bitty’s short shorts in a way that has Jack dreaming of sliding his finger up and under the hem, all the way to the junction of his delicious thighs.

 

    Jack can never leave this table. And if Bitty doesn’t move, his hip inching ever closer to Jack’s lips as he reaches over to stare at what Jack is staring at, Jack is going to have to throw these shorts in the trash. The breath that had caught in his throat is now hitching dangerously. Jack tries to focus back on the photos and away from the warmth and smell of the three dimensional version of Bitty at his side. The smaller pictures are just different poses, one of Bitty leaning on his hockey stick with both hands and looking straight into the camera with a seductive grin. The other, a wide frame, has him reclining on the bare, wooden floorboards, propped up on his elbows, head thrown back, eyes closed, left leg bent slightly more at the knee than his right. Jack looks back to the main picture and the expression on Bitty’s face, his head tilted back and over his right shoulder, the length of his neck exposed, mouth slightly open, eyes looking up through lowered lids, is so suggestive, Jack is for a moment worried that he might actually be having a heart attack.

    ‘Jack?’

Jack is brought back to reality by the sound of his name in Bitty’s mouth. He can tell from the tone of his voice that BItty has had to call it more than once.

    ‘You’re scaring me, Jack. Are they… are they okay?’

Jack tries to calm himself down by counting backwards from ten. It’s a trick he’s supposed to use when he feels a panic attack coming on. It seems also effective at bringing you back from being so turned on you can’t think straight (ha! pun).

    ‘Uh...yeah,’ his voice sort of breaks a little on the yeah, so he tries again, ‘yeah, Bitty. Bittle. They’re umm… they’re good. You look good.’

    ‘Yeah?’ Bitty’s face lights up and Jack almost winces at the innocence in his expression.

    ‘Yeah,’ Jack nods to add emphasis, because Bitty deserves to feel good about these photos. ‘Definitely. You look, amazing. You know, for what they are. I mean, Alice is a good photographer, and you’re a good subject. Or, well, a great subject. You look beautiful. I mean, they do. The photo’s do.’ Jack’s mouth is just making noises at this point, that he seems to have no control over. He needs to extricate himself, asap. ‘Sorry, I’ve got… I’ve gotta go.’ he stutters quickly and clumsily, ripping himself from the table and up the stairs to his bedroom, trying not to draw attention to the giant tent of his running shorts. He has the vague sense that Bitty is calling after him, can imagine the look of confused hurt on his face. But it can’t be helped. Jack barely makes it to his room before he reaches a climax. Has just enough time to catch the release in his hand and not have to change before going back downstairs. He will go back, go back and talk to Bitty, help him with dinner maybe. Offer to go through his history homework. But not yet. He needs a minute, potentially many minutes, to just simmer in this state and gather his wits, so to speak. If he can manage to find them. He just hopes that when the calendar comes out (ha! Puns galore), he can find himself a copy in a discreet enough way that no one will ever find out that he owns one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Appreciate any and all comments ( ･v･)♡
> 
> Next installment coming soon...


	3. Print

**Bitty**

 

Alice _had_ given him a heads up about the release date for the calendar.

    ‘It’s on sale as of next Friday, Eric. So you might wanna get some for your friends. I’ve already got a copy set aside for you and Lardo, so, anyone else you might think of, maybe get in quick.’ Alice says this with unadulterated glee in her voice. ‘They are going to sell like _hotcakes_ !’ She basically just sings the ‘hotcakes’ at the end there. Bitty doesn’t bother to correct her calling him Eric, or the suggestion that he might actually _want_ his friends to see this. Well, apart from perhaps gifting a copy to Jack, if only to see that look in his eye again (pure _hunger_ is really the only way Bitty can describe it), he would be slightly mortified if a copy got into the hands of the rest of the team. He’s hoping, since they seem to have forgotten about the entire incident (and Jack certainly hasn’t mentioned it again), that they simply never have to find out.

 

Nothing, however, can prepare Bitty for the barrage of attention he experiences once the calendar goes on sale.

 

He’s walking across campus with Shitty, discussing the merits of ice cream over cake as comfort food, when a random stranger double takes at Bitty while walking past. Bitty, unfailingly polite, smiles back at said stranger with genuine warmth and waves (the man is _fine_ , what can Bitty do but give a little wave). It surprises him even further, though, when the stranger backtracks in their general direction to strike up a conversation (all the while, Shitty digs painfully into Bitty’s ribs with his elbow).

    ‘Hey,’ the stranger says with a hundred watt smile.

    ‘Hey, yourself,’ Bitty replies, adding just a hint of southern charm.

    ‘Aren’t you Eric Bittle?’

    ‘I am, have we met?’ Bitty asks, sure he would remember if he had a class with this guy. If nothing else, he is wearing the cutest little cherry print socks with his black Van’s that Bitty is sure he would have noticed before.

    ‘Oh, uh…’ Bitty watches as a bright red flush spreads across the stranger’s cheeks and he ducks his head, biting at his bottom lip. ‘Well, no, but I… I bought one of your calendar’s? You know, it’s for a good cause…’ His smile has actually intensified, even as he looks embarrassed by the confession. Bitty swallows audibly and tries not to panic. Shitty looks like a kettle that is about to hit boiling point. Steam and everything.

    ‘Come again?’ Shitty manages to say, barely.

    ‘Oh lord,’

    ‘Uh… is it, I mean, would it be super weird if I asked you to sign it for me?’ the guy asks, honest to goodness, reaching into his backpack to pull out a copy of the calendar and wave it within Bitty’s arms length.

    ‘WHAT?!’ Shitty says, volume peaking and steam at critical levels. ‘WHAT CALENDAR?’

    ‘Oh, you haven’t seen it?’ says Bitty’s traitorous fan, changing course and waving it at Shitty instead, ‘it’s amazing. I mean, Eric, you look amazing!’

    Shitty swipes the outstretched calendar from the guy’s hand and flicks through, eyes wide, until he gets to August and stops. Frozen. His mouth starts to move, but he doesn’t manage to actually make any words with it. He looks up at Bitty, who is peeking out at him from behind his fingers. He looks at the guy, who seems to think the whole situation is hilarious and is now chuckling discreetly. He looks back down at the calendar and starts to shake his head.

‘Holy shit! Jesus Christ! What the FUCK, Bits!’ He looks back up at Bitty, and it would be almost frightening if not for the pure joy evident in Shitty’s expression. ‘Why did you not _tell me_ about this?’

‘Ahhh…’

‘Wait, wait wait. You got a pen?’ he asks Bitty’s admirer, who hands him one happily. ‘Sign this mother fucker right here, Bitty,’ he holds the calendar and the pen out to Bitty with a flourish, ‘You have got a genuine _fan_ , kid.’ and his fan nods along in agreement.

‘Oh sweet baby Jesus,’ Bitty says reaching out to take the items and sign at the bottom left of his picture.

‘Could you make it out to, Darren? Two r’s.’ Bitty smiles at the request and nods, writing: _To Darren, my very first (and sweetest) Fan, with love, Bitty xo._ Shitty is vibrating with the effort of trying to contain his excitement as Bitty hands the calendar back and smiles shyly at Darren, who smiles back, showing off a set of very straight, white teeth.

‘Oh, wow, Eric, thank you! Maybe I’ll see you at the next game?’

‘Oh yeah? You come to the games?’ Bitty asks, a little thrill at the craziness of this whole exchange is starting to creep in.

‘I do now,’ says Darren with a glint in his eye and then carefully packs his prize away and takes off in the opposite direction. ‘Nice to meet you, Eric Bittle!’

‘It’s Bitty!’ Bitty calls out with a laugh, ‘just Bitty.’ Darren laughs and waves as he starts to jog away, obviously now late for whatever he’s on his way to. Bitty is brought back to reality with a punch to the arm.

‘Is this what you were doing with Lardo and Alice, Bits?’ Shitty is staring at Bitty with just a hint of hurt.

‘Oh, honey. I didn’t mean to make you feel left out,’ Bitty says, resting a hand on Shitty’s shoulder, ‘I just, I guess I didn’t want to be too… in your face with what I was doing?’ Shitty leans into the comfort but looks even more upset by Bitty’s explanation (or lack of one, really).

‘You don’t trust me? I'm a judge free zone, you know that, Bits.’

‘Shitty, no! I mean, of course I trust you! You’re the first person I ever came out to!’ Bitty remembers so fondly, the absolute acceptance that Shitty offered, and the relief and hope that came with it. ‘But I guess I didn’t want to tell _everyone_ , so it made sense just not to tell _anyone_.’

‘I get it, kiddo.’ Shitty says, wrapping his arm around Bitty’s shoulders and giving him a squeeze. ‘I’m not happy about it. But you’re allowed to keep some pieces of Bitty business to yourself.’

‘Thanks, Shitty,’ Bitty allows himself to be squeezed. He doesn’t mind the contact, and he knows it will go toward appeasing Shitty’s grievance. It’s so hard to explain why he was worried, but he thinks Shitty probably kind of gets it, even if he himself never felt the need to hide, or, more accurately, tone himself down, for fear of people’s reactions. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any way we can keep this from the boys now, huh.’

‘I think you majorly underestimated your own fucking sex appeal, Bits.’ Shitty says with a wink, and then claps his hands loudly. ‘Oh my god! Wait till Jack sees these! He is going to lose. his. shit.’ Bitty ducks his head to avoid Shitty’s gaze. ‘Bitty?’ He looks up and away, trying for nonchalance. ‘You sneaky little fucker!’ Shitty cries, squeezing even harder, ‘He’s already seen them!’ Bitty is sure that his face is a tomato. He lets out a sigh of resignation.

‘I _may_ have promised Jack he could see the photo’s. And I _may_ have shown him the prints when I got the first copies.’ He buries his face in his hands. Shitty is beside himself.

‘My giant French-Canadian hockey Prince has been holding out on me too, huh?’ he says, snorting and slapping his thigh.

‘Don’t be mad at Jack, Shitty. I asked him not to say anything.’

‘Oh, I’m not mad. Not even surprised.’ his laugh fades out a little. ‘Happy maybe.’ He says a bit more subdued. ‘Happy for you too, Bits.’

‘Thanks Shitty,’ he says, squeezing back a little with his hand around Shitty’s waist. They make their way back to the house like that and separate once they get to the front door. Shitty leaves Bitty with a kiss to the top of his head.

‘Love you, kiddo.’

‘Love you too, Shitty.’

The moment is sort of ruined when Chowder comes running up to meet them in the entrance.

 

    ‘Bitty! Bitty’s back! Bitty, you’re back!’ He says, almost jumping up and down, the human equivalent of an exclamation mark.

    ‘Chowder, honey. Take a breath.’ Bitty says with a huff. He knows Chowder is excitable, he _is_ Bitty’s favourite freshman (frog) - goalie, team puppy dog - but this is another level.

    ‘Dex and Nursey are saying you’re a celebrity now!’ he shouts, Bitty tries in vain to get him to lower his voice with hand gestures. ‘Will you sign mine? Bitty? You look _amazing!_ ’ and to Bitty’s horror he grabs a copy of the calendar from the kitchen table and thrusts it into Bitty’s hands along with a giant red sharpie. Dex and Nursey pop their heads out from the living room and come bounding into the hallway to a chorus of ‘Bitty!’

    ‘Everybody has been asking about you!’

    ‘Bitty, dope shots, man.’ Dex and Nursey are babbling over the top of each other. And then he hears yelling from the street, getting louder and louder as it approaches the house.

    ‘Eric Richard Bittle!’

    ‘Your fanboys have arrived!’ Rans and Holster cry as they slam into the house and grab him from behind, spinning him around and passing him between them.

    ‘Autographs! Autographs for everyone!’ Holster is yelling and Ransom has run back out to the front porch to grab a box of calendars he must have dropped there in the ruckus.

 

It is absolute chaos.

 

Which is what Jack get’s home to, watching everyone carefully as they dance around Bitty, heaping praise, begging him to sign their copies, chirping him endlessly and laughing and laughing with him until he feels so full to the brim with happiness that he’s fit to burst. And when he smiles tentatively at Jack, Jack smiles tentatively back. Blue eyes twinkling with suppressed cheek and shoulders shaking with silent laughter. He looks so wonderful, the picture of strength and beauty, all sharp cheekbones and dark hair, tall and broad but soft and sweet, as Bitty knows, delicate in a way that most people fail to realise makes him special, and is not a weakness. He nods a hello to the rest of the team but spares a ‘Bittle’ for Bitty as he walks past on his way up the stairs. It doesn’t escape Bitty’s attention that he slips a Calendar out of the box and into his arms on the way.

  
  


**Jack**

 

Jack can’t believe the amount of bad luck necessary for him to be here right now, standing in line at the Campus store, and they have sold out. Sold out of Bitty’s calendar. There is literally not one copy left. He doesn’t know how that is possible when they only went on sale, TODAY. He asks the clerk as much once he finds someone willing to talk to him (his face must be thunderous).

    ‘I’m so sorry, I don’t know what to tell you except, well, they were just super popular. I mean. They were so much better than we were expecting.’ She’s smiling now as she speaks, the grin slowly spreading across her face. ‘That guy for August? Oh my god!’ She finishes with a far away look in her eyes and Jack can’t really fault her for it. He often finds himself doing the very same thing when he thinks about those photos of Bitty.

    ‘Yeah, he’s a friend of mine.’

    ‘Oh, you’ve got a man on the inside, huh?’ she says, Jack wincing at the choice of words. ‘He should be able to get you one.’ She must realise that’s a ‘no’ from the look on his face. He is _not_ asking Bittle for a copy. _Definitely_ not. ‘Or… you know… there’ll be another lot delivered in a week. I can put you on the waiting list.’

    ‘No. Actually yes, okay. Do that.’ Jack writes his name down on a card for her to put into the computer at the desk.

    ‘Jack Zimmermann?’ she asks. Jack just nods with resignation. ‘Isn’t your dad Bad Bob? like, the hockey God, Bad bob Zimmermann?’ Jack barely stops himself from rolling his eyes and nods again, just once, up and down. The clerk takes the hint and doesn’t press the issue.

 

When he gets home to the collective freak out of the team over the calendar, and Bitty’s pictures, he can’t help but smile. He usually can’t help but smile at Bitty. It’s even getting easier to let him see the smiles now. It’s still terrifying though, the hunger, the pull that Bitty sparks in him. His anxiety has always made him afraid of emotionally stimulating situations, but more than that, he knows that his feelings for Bitty have the potential to jeopardise his future of a career in the NHL. If he wants to prove that he can be the kind of player his dad can be proud of, he needs to have no distractions, he needs to get signed to a team that will give him ice time, he needs to keep his head above water and minimise as many triggers to his anxiety as possible. Routine, discipline, activity. These are the things that keep Jack sane. But routines can be adapted. And little bit by little bit, Jack is working Bitty into his safe space.

 

He spots the box of calendars and scoffs at the audacity of his team mates to buy out the supply. But then again, they are obviously proud of Bitty. And very keen to horde any potential chirping material in the attic for extended use. They won’t mind though, surely, if he pinches one for himself on the way through.

 

~

 

    ‘Great game, Eric!’ someone calls out as they come off the ice and make their way to the change rooms. It's a week later and they’ve just won a nailbiter against Yale, mostly thanks to Chow’s shutout and Bitty’s assist on Jack’s goal, the only one of the game. Jack spins to find a young guy approaching the team with Lardo, attractive in a way that Jack never will be, fashionable, carefully styled hair, bright green eyes and an easy smile.

    ‘Emmett! What are you doing at a hockey game?’ Bitty asks with a grin.

    ‘Just thought I should come down and support our Mister August,’ Jack watches the exchange with lead in his belly. He’s been increasingly agitated by the fans Bitty has been amassing of late. All week, Bitty had been stopped for a chat or to sign a calendar. Jack had taken him for coffee at Annie’s only to have them be interrupted by four separate groups looking to have an encounter with ‘the hot hockey guy’. The only benefit that Jack could see was the total disregard with which he himself was now being treated by the populace when in Bitty’s presence. Even in the crowd tonight, someone had held aloft a ‘Marry me Mr August’ sign, Bitty blushing furiously as the boys chirped him with relish (despite the missing comma). Shitty and the others pass by on their way to the locker room and Jack, in no mood to join in the revelry bound to take place there (not to mention, avoid the media whenever possible), bypasses them all to head out to the loading dock and spend ten minutes on some breathing exercises.

 

    By the time he gets back to the locker room, everyone bar Bitty is already showered and mostly dressed. He gives Chowder a congratulatory pat on the shoulder on his way past in reference to his shutout and offers Shitty some perfunctory excuse as to where he had gone and why they shouldn’t wait for him (a loud kegster and sweaty crowds were the last thing Jack felt like right now).

    ‘Alright then, Jacques, but make sure when you get back to the Haus, you have one beer with us, yeah?’ Shitty grips him by the bicep and squeezes, ‘you’re our captain brah, and we kicked Yale’s ass tonight.’

    ‘It was a scrappy game, Shits, we won, but we didn’t kick ass.’ Jack replies solemnly, more so than he feels. It was a good game, he just doesn’t feel like celebrating.

    ‘We’re off!’ Shitty cries, after a disappointed shake of his head in Jack’s direction, ‘See you at the haus, Bits? There’s a kegstand with your glorious fucking name on it!’

    ‘I’ll be there in a few, Shitty!’ Bitty cries out from the shower room as Jack starts to pry his pads off and throw them into his locker. Chowder is wearing a face splitting grin as Dex and Nursey practically carry him out on their shoulders and Ransom, Holster and the rest of the team follow after, catcalling and inviting random strangers they stumble across back to the kegster as they head back out to the ice and out of Faber. Jack strips down to his compression jock shorts as Bitty gets to his locker with just a towel around his waist.

    ‘Oh, Jack! I didn’t realise anyone was still here,’ he says with a startled smile, presumably happy to have someone still to walk back to the house with.    

    ‘Yeah, I’ll finish up quick and we can walk back together, eh?’ Jack says, and turns away to give Bitty some privacy while he gets dressed.

    ‘Well that sounds just lovely, Mister Zimmermann,’ Bitty replies, ‘are you gonna stay for a drink with us, Jack?’

    Jack turns to answer Bitty, because he can probably manage one drink if he gets to spend that time shuffling closer and closer into Bitty’s warmth and comfort as people squash in around them. He’s prepared to catch a bright Bitty smile as he agrees to stay for a drink. He is not prepared to be greeted by the sight of Bitty in nothing but his underwear. His tiny, cherry red underwear, a threaded white pattern at the trim looks almost like lace, they’re cut so high that the crease of Bitty's round butt cheeks frames them perfectly. The wind is knocked right out of him, his heart beats madly, his breath is short and labored and he can’t look away. It’s like the photos from the calendar (he certainly does _not_ keep it under his mattress, go away) have come to life and are not three feet from the stretch of Jack’s trembling hands.

    ‘Jack?’ Bitty asks with a softness and a depth that wasn’t there before. As if it’s as much of a struggle for him to speak as it is for Jack to think right now. ‘Jack?’ He steps even closer, reaching out a hand to Jack’s chest and placing it very softly over his heart, looking up at him with concern from beneath his lashes, blinking and increasing the pressure of Jack’s erection with every second of contact. There’s just so much of Bitty’s warm, sunkissed skin within reach, he’s so slight next to Jack that his arms would wrap around his waist and reach back to himself. He smells clean and yet still somehow like vanilla and cinnamon that Jack wants so desperately to taste him, to suck his petite, pink nipple into his mouth and close his teeth around it, to trace his tongue down the soft blonde hair that starts at his belly button and leads down into the underwear that sits so tantalisingly low on his prominent hip bones. He wants to press his lips against the delicately defined triceps from his shoulder and kiss all the way down to the inside of his wrists. He’s not even sure where this desire is coming from, he’s never felt like this about anyone, but it’s been building for Bitty so slowly and determinedly, all the control he felt he was holding is slipping through his sweaty fingertips.

 

It’s only as he consciously acknowledges the loss of his control that he realises how close to Bitty he has drifted, looking down into his beautiful face, almost elfin in the subtle elegance of his features, small, slightly upturned nose, heart shaped face and pointed chin,

and Bitty is looking up at him, not so much concerned anymore as surprised and maybe flushed with the very same desire that runs through Jack. Their mouths are separated by less than an inch of air, both Bitty’s hands now burning through Jack’s skin, Jack’s fists clenched ready to clutch at Bitty’s hips. He wants to give into it, wants it so much, but he knows that they won't come back from that. Their friendship, which is as precious to Jack now as anything else in his life, might not survive it. And Jack is not equipped to take that plunge. So he pulls back. Bitty slowly exhales the breath he’s been holding. Jack watches his face shut down and his body shift inwards, close itself off to Jack. He turns around and grabs the rest of his clothes from his locker, dressing himself piece by piece, as quickly as he can.

    ‘I think it might be better if I just see you back at the haus, Jack.’ he says softly, and Jack knows he is being dismissed. He doesn’t waste time grabbing his towel and ducking into the showers, not bothering to remove his shorts until he gets there, not even caring that they will get soaked on the tiled floor. He doesn’t hear Bitty leave, but he knows he’s gone. And he lets himself be angry and sad and angry again at all the things that he won’t let himself have, for fear they might be too much, or that he might be too little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I hope you enjoyed it :)
> 
> Be sure to stay tuned for part 4...
> 
> (if you've noticed that there is now a fifth chapter scheduled, it's because I've made a few tiny changes and split that last chapter up... if you're really lucky {and say lots of nice things to me} I might even post chapters 4 and 5 together)
> 
>  
> 
> (ΘεΘ) xxx
> 
>  
> 
> ps. You know the drill, hit me up for all the crappy grammar. Cheers folks xx


	4. Circulate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So - oops! Here is chapter 4. Chapter 5 is about 24 hours away... dont hurt me... 
> 
> Big thanks to
> 
>  [Kalee60](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalee60/pseuds/Kalee60)
> 
> for all her help with this chapter. She is a goddess.
> 
> Thanks to all of you for the kudos and the comments. I absolutely love to hear how much these boys are burrowing their way into your hearts. Y'all are gorgeous. 
> 
> So, enjoy... <3

**Bitty**

 

Bitty shouldn't be as mad as he is. He knows this thing with Jack, whatever it is, can never escalate. Or he knew it. Before today he was almost certain that the attraction was eighty percent all in his head anyway.

But to be so close. To see the naked want in Jack and have him pull away, as if he was _ashamed._ It hurt. So much.

 

By the time he gets back to the house the kegster is somehow already in full swing. He will never truly understand how Shitty, Ransom and Holster manage to pull these things together so quickly. Not just the logistics (which take place sometimes over weeks, sometimes over hours), but all the _people_? Where the heck do they all come from? How do they even know? Maybe college students just have a sixth sense about alcohol and irresponsibility, drawn to it like moths to electronically charged filaments. Bitty shuffles himself inside and upstairs and manages to keep all to himself by not making eye contact or speaking to anyone on the way. In the comfort of his bedroom, he changes into dark wash denim jeans and a blue zip up hoodie, open over a white v-neck t-shirt. It’s a comfort outfit (it’s safe, he doesn’t feel like making any decisions or risque fashion choices right now), his softest hoodie, complementary without being showy. He gives Señor Bun a quick cuddle and then makes his way back down to the hoo-ha happening in his living room where he is immediately swept up in a wave of affection.

    ‘Bitty! You’re back!’ Chowder cries, tugging on Bitty’s arm, leading him towards the older boys at the keg. Dex has clasped two hands on Bitty’s shoulders and is squeezing with a combination of camaraderie and contained exuberance over the win. Nursey trips and then steadies himself as he sidles up next to them.

    ‘Oh, Bitty, oh, did you see that those boys with the “Marry me” sign are here?’ Chow is chatting excitedly, ‘They even brought it and everything. I bet they want you to sign it, Bitty!’

    ‘Yeah, you're a bigger celebrity than Jack now, Bitty.’ Dex says with a wry grin.

    ‘There is gonna be a line-up to dance with you tonight, man,’ Nursey remarks. He punctuates his statement with a friendly punch to Bitty’s bicep.

    ‘We’ll be handing out numbers, brah, never fucking fear! It’s gonna be organised chaos, not some shit show.’ Shitty cries as he jumps into the conversation (and literally onto Nursey’s toes).

    ‘I’m first! Me first!’ Ransom cries, as he too, crashes into the group, grabbing Bitty around the waist and into the (by no means meager) mess of dancers already gyrating to Rans’ playlist. He dances close, but not in an uncomfortable or suggestive way. It’s nice, just another way that Bitty feels like he belongs with these boys, is a part of the team, a family, that they will actively seek out contact with him and not shy away. That they can enjoy and appreciate the way he dances, the joy it brings him to lose himself in a _Flume_ track, express that joy with his hips, with rhythm. And never make him feel that it's inappropriate or that they're uncomfortable with the proximity.

 

    Bitty can see Emmett talking to Lardo. Alice is even here with them and they all wave in Bitty’s direction as he shows off a little of the grace and sensuality his skill as a dancer affords him. He can see the effect it has on Emmett from across the room and it helps ease some of his wounded, southern pride. He isn’t prepared though, for the soft touch at his elbow, and turns abruptly to find Darren beside him, Darren, whom he hasn’t seen since their first meeting a week ago.

    ‘Hey, Eric.’ He says, lips up against Bitty’s ear so as to be heard over the music.

    ‘Bitty,’ Bitty corrects him with a shy smile, looking down at his keds, and then back to Darren’s face.

    ‘You mind if I join you?’ He asks, leaning again into Bitty’s space, Rans seeming to have vanished back into the foray. Bitty just shakes his head, smile holding, growing even, at the idea that this cute boy wants to dance with him. He can feel the breath on the back of his neck as Darren slips behind him, hands gripping Bitty’s waist and chin almost resting on Bitty’s shoulder. Their bodies aren’t quite pressed together but it’s a near thing. Bitty looks back over his shoulder and smiles even wider at the sight of Darren looking so flustered at the feel of Bitty’s body under his touch.

 

    It’s as he looks up to the rest of the room that he sees Jack slip through the crowd, eyes locked to Bitty with every step. He deftly moves between the partygoers, remaining distinctly removed from them, somehow existing on an entirely separate plane. Even with the distance, Bitty can feel the heat generated between them. And it’s so unfair, because it does nothing but highlight Bitty’s lack of that connection elsewhere, and though it’s fun to dance with Darren, or flirt with Emmett, he has no interest in pursuing them, knowing that any potential for real intimacy is linked exclusively to the hauntingly blue eyed boy fleeing from him at every turn. He doesn’t let it falter his movements though. He finishes out the dance and hugs the cute boy, promising to catch up with him soon (they exchange numbers, because Bitty will not begrudge new friends, no matter the circumstances) then disappears to find Shitty and the beer.

 

He has probably a few too many drinks and decides to escape to his room once the alcohol gets the better of his teammates. Rans and Holster are dancing with two of the volleyball girls between them. Shitty is nuzzling into Lardo’s neck as she leans back on the (filthy, horrid) green couch in the living room (Bitty shudders at the thought), beer in one hand, the other carding through Shitty’s hair affectionately. His frogs are arguing good naturedly over the probability that Jack would ever sign with Chowder’s beloved San Jose Sharks, Dex unequivocally saying no, Nursey maintaining that it could happen (most likely to both placate Chow and antagonise Dex). Chowder, sweet, sweet child that he is, is just distressed at the idea of dividing his loyalties once his captain leaves them for the NHL. Bitty knows from his own conversations with Jack, that it’s far more likely he will sign with the Falconers in Providence (Ransom has a spreadsheet outlining their benefits, and a venn diagram illustrating how the amount of ice time, contract, salary and potential towards captaincy all intersect favourably, not to mention it being only a forty minute drive to Providence from campus). Bitty slips past them all without saying goodnight, hoping he can avoid having to explain why he isn’t feeling it tonight. Why he’s ducking out on so many perfectly potential suitors. Why he can’t concentrate on anything but the look on Jack’s face as he watched Bitty dancing with another boy.

 

By the time he gets into his room, he can't turn his brain off. He sits on his bed, imagining what Jack might be doing. Is he sleeping already? Is he sitting in his own bed, wondering about Bitty? Is he thinking about that almost kiss? About the way Bitty’s skin might feel under his hands, about how it might feel as soft and smooth as it looks? Bitty pulls off his hoodie and throws it over the chair at his desk. He runs his hands up his arms to his throat and brushes the back of his hand across his own cheek. He wonders whether Jack’s breath would hitch if Bitty curled his tongue around one of his fingers and sucked it into his mouth. He runs his fingertips down his chest and sneaks them up under the hem of his t-shirt, ghosting them back up to his nipples, rolling one between his thumb and index finger. He gasps at the shot of electricity that sends through him. He wonders if Jack would have to stifle a moan at the responsiveness Bitty exercises at his every touch.

 

He lets his body fall back to the mattress and slides his hands down to the waistband of his jeans, reaching under to brush his palm against the length of himself in his little red briefs. He had not missed the way Jack’s eyes widened at the sight of him in his underwear. The reaction was such a heightened version of Jack’s first impression of the calendar, it was impossible to ignore. There was no mistaking the hunger there. He wonders, as he strokes himself, back and forth over the cotton of his underwear, what Jack’s hands would feel like in the place of his own. Jack’s hands, so much bigger than Bitty’s, tightening around Bitty, pulling at him with slicked up fingers, twisting, teasing, wet and hot. He thrusts his hips slowly at first into the touch of his own hand, moving faster and faster with the image of Jack hovering over him, touching him, clutching at him and whispering clipped, accented praise into the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Waves of pleasure build through Bitty with each thrust of his hips until his rhythm becomes erratic, they break over Bitty and his orgasm crashes through him until he sinks back into his bed, satisfied and languid.

 

    Bitty lies for a minute, coming down from the rush of endorphins and rolls his head lazily to the right. For just the barest hint of a moment, Bitty’s brain expects him to find Jack there, so present had he been in Bitty’s fantasy. When he finds nothing but empty space it pinches at something in his chest. He closes his eyes to the emptiness and squeezes them tight. He wonders how he’s ever going to face Jack again, now that he’s seen him and felt him in this way, never minding that it was just as a figment of Bitty’s imagination. Bitty, bless his own traitorous, ridiculous little heart, has suddenly crossed a line that he can never cross back. He drifts off to sleep with tears drying in his eyes, messed clothes shed to the floor, knees curled up into his chest and a heaviness that hadn’t existed in him before.

 

    Bitty, Bitty, Bitty, his conscience admonishes, _what have you done?_

   

**Jack**

 

The next week is particularly sad and lonely for Jack. Bitty is avoiding him. It’s discreet, he has to admit, and in a way that has no one else wanting to overtly mention it. It’s obvious, though, to the members of the house, that something is off between them. And not just _between_ them. Something is off about Bitty in general. He hasn’t baked much more than a batch of cookies (that were a little over done, even Jack had noticed). Nobody has heard Beyonce blaring from the shower speaker Bitty had suctioned to his, Rans and Holster’s bathroom tiles. The Haus is eerily subdued without Bitty’s big, Georgian personality to bolster its atmosphere.

 

It’s as if someone has turned the temperature down on everything. Jack is surer now than ever, that the loss of Eric Bittle as an everyday fixture in his routine, is palpable and crippling.

 

He also now knows that he’s willing to push himself (and his woefully underdeveloped emotional capabilities) into uncharted territory, if it means he can have him back.

 

So Jack makes a plan. It’s not very detailed, he must admit, but it’s enough for him to ease the anxiety that he finds sitting heavy on his chest in the mornings (and afternoons, and especially at night when he closes his eyes and all he can see is the look of hurt on Bitty’s face as he had rushed to get dressed and run far away from Jack).  

 

~

 

    ‘Bittle!’ Jack calls out. When Bitty doesn’t respond, he assumes he hasn’t heard him, but as Jack races to catch up to him, Bitty slows his pace by a fraction and turns his head to acknowledge the fact. He doesn’t say anything, but he raises a questioning eyebrow as Jack approaches. It’s the afternoon, particularly cold for December, and Bitty is wrapped up against it in a red scarf and toque, his pink cheeks poking out from the knitwear, his mouth almost totally obscured. It looks as if he is burrowing into the safety of anonymity, it’s also incredibly endearing and Jack is reminded of his mission by the forcefully visceral sensation of his affection. He supposes the feeling might be what people refer to as butterflies, and it suddenly makes sense that they should, it’s so like fluttering wings in his chest. He reaches Bitty’s side and still neither of them have spoken. To let it get awkward now would be counter productive, so he tries to gather himself and make running after him in the middle of the campus quad seem like a casual thing.

    ‘Hey, hi! Bitty- Bittle. I uh, I haven’t seen you much...around...the house or...I mean I’ve seen you, but we haven’t... How are you?’ Crisse, Jack the goal was to _not_ be awkward. Bitty focuses away to the right and then slides his eyes back to Jack, bottom lip pressed between his teeth, hands tucked into his jacket pockets.

    ‘I’m okay,’ is what he eventually says softly. ‘We’ve got class, so…’ he gestures to the direction they should be headed.

    ‘Right, right. Yeah, lead the way,’ Jack hurries to comply. They fall into step together, their bodies finding an easy rhythm (just as they always seem to) that their minds haven’t managed to replicate yet. But it’s okay. This is just step one of Jack’s plan. Ingratiate himself through proximity. Bitty surreptitiously glances at Jack with a curious expression but doesn’t comment on whatever is puzzling him. Jack doesn't press him, he doesn’t want to spook him. They walk the rest of the way to class in silence.

 

    Two days later, Jack knocks on Bitty’s door at four in the morning. They had organised their checking practices for Wednesday mornings, but last week Jack had been too chickenshit to wake Bitty, instead sitting in the kitchen and waiting until after seven for a Bitty that never arrived. Regular practice had been fine, if not quiet, and their roadie on the weekend was lonely but not confrontational. Bitty had stuck close to his frogs (especially Dex, and Jack had wondered, not for the first time, about the strange but persistent relationship they seemed to share) and they had won the game four goals to one, Bitty only coming out onto Jack’s line twice, and both times getting the puck to Jack (one beautiful snap shot and another drop pass so accurate the assist was inevitable). Jack knew that Bitty was too invested in Jack’s game (and future, by extension) and the team's success, to do anything other than his absolute best, no matter their personal circumstances. He finds himself holding his breath, waiting for the door to open, to see Bitty pop his head around it, hair a mess, eyes puffy. Every second that harbours no response feeds into Jack’s anxiety. He’s putting himself in such a vulnerable position right now, he just has to remember that it's worth it. And when the door finally cracks, and Bitty’s blonde hair, sticking straight up and out to the left, emerges, followed closely by bleary eyes and a sleep creased right cheek, Jack feels that worth keenly.

    ‘Jack?’ Bitty yawns, ‘Oh, it’s Wednesday!’ Jack sees the moment the recognition hits Bitty and his eyes widen, before closing as Bitty rests his head against the door. ‘Just give me ten minutes, honey, I’ll meet you downstairs.’ Jack nods and Bitty disappears back into his room. He swallows and stares at the closed door for a minute before heading down to the kitchen. Trying and failing not to obsess over whether Bitty has actually ever called him, ‘honey’ that he can recollect. And what it might even mean. ‘Honey’ is just on a feedback loop in his head now as he waits at the table.

    ‘How are you smiling, Jack? It’s four in the darn morning,’ Bitty grumbles, and Jack is quick to hide the smile behind his hand. He hadn’t realised how determinedly the grin was fixed to his face. And even knowing it now, he can’t seem to shake it. Bitty continues to grumble all the way to the rink, but it warms Jack right down to his bones to hear it. Step one, ingratiation by proximity, check.

 

~

 

    Step two of Jack’s plan is to endear himself through action. If Jack knows anything about Eric Bittle, it’s that he expresses his love through food. So Jack spends most of his spare time in the next week, in the kitchen. Bitty seems mostly to have accepted the company now and is back to chirping Jack, though with less mirth and vigour, it’s softer somehow, more delicate and less boisterous. He watches and takes mental notes of Bitty’s processes, marveling at the skill and dexterity with which Bitty creates a bevy of delicious pastries. Christmas cookies have been multiplying exponentially and are making their way into gift boxes for all the hockey players and associates (even some for Darren and Emmett, Jack has to hold back a growl at the sight of those names on the tags).

 

    Jack spends three consecutive mornings while the rest of the house are in class (Jack is in fact _missing class_ for this, and is unsure why, at this point, he doesn’t even _mind_ \- it’s ridiculously out of character) shuffling carefully around Bitty’s kitchen, reading and re-reading his mother’s gingerbread cookie recipe, buying and measuring out all the ingredients. Mixing everything, baking it and then starting over from scratch when it isn’t good enough the first time. By the third day, what Jack finally has to show for all his efforts are two dozen, golden brown, chewy, heart shaped gingerbread biscuits, iced in alternating red and green royal icing (made thin and brushed on with a pastry brush, because maman _insisted_ ) that he slips into a snaplock bag and then into a gift bag and hides in Bitty’s packed suitcase while he’s in the shower.

 

    They share a slightly awkward goodbye (Jack wants to go in for a hug, but isn’t sure how to initiate) and a ‘Merry Christmas’ amidst the frantic exodus of all the Haus members as they flee to their respective holiday destinations. It’s not till nine o’clock that night, as Jack settles into his bed in his parents house in Montreal that he gets his first text notification for the day. His heart picks up at the sight of Bitty’s contact picture on the screen. He opens it with clumsy fingers and feels his cheeks warm at the words that greet him.

 

**You are ridiculous and these are beautiful, Jack Zimmermann.** **Merry** **Christmas <3**

  
Step two, endear himself through action. Check.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 is not far away, I promise...
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me :)
> 
> xxx


	5. Wrap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is folks, the final installment.
> 
> Hope you love, love love it...

 

#### Bitty

  


Bitty returns home from the holidays to a house covered floor to ceiling in pictures of his own skimpily clad derriere.

    ‘What in the world…?’ he says under his breath, taking in the riot of artistic wallpaper around him ‘Boys!’ He cries at whomever might be home. The pictures are photocopies he can tell, but in colour, which must have cost them a small fortune on their student cards. They're tacked on, not taped (in deference to the pretty crappy paint job, which seems hardly worthwhile) and it's clear that someone (more likely _someones_ ) has gone to a lot of effort for this elaborate chirp.

He walks upstairs with his luggage, goggling at the sheer extensiveness of the wallpapering. And in his total preoccupied-ness he fails to notice Jack, waiting in the middle of the hall for him, until he breaks his stride up against a wall of solid muscle.

‘Bittle!’ Jack laughs, grabbing Bitty by the shoulders to steady him.

‘Jack! Where on earth? Have you been standing there this whole time?’

‘Well, I heard you call out and then thought I’d come and investigate.’

‘And was this your doing? All these pictures?’ They haven’t, thankfully, extended into the bedrooms, as far as Bitty can tell.

‘Uh, no.’ Jack says with a shake of his head. ‘The redecorating was already done when I got home.’ He has the sweetest smile on his face as he speaks and Bitty is mesmerised. So much so that he only now realises, as he feels the heat spreading upwards from his elbow, that Jack is still holding him, must have run his hand down Bitty’s arm to where he’s now gripping him gently. He looks down at Jack’s hand and Jack watches him take it in, letting go once Bitty looks back up into his face, without any of the haste that Bitty would have expected. It’s difficult not to associate Jack touching him with shame, remembering the way Jack had rejected him the day of their last home game. Remembering the way he had gotten so carried away with touching himself, fixing Jack so physically and emotionally into his fantasy without permission. But the look Jack is giving him here in the hallway, the way he let his hands linger, the promise of more of this soft affection in the way he stands so close, well there is no shame there.

‘Jack?’

‘Mmm?’ he leans impossibly closer

‘I wanted to thank you, for the cookies.’ he says, lifting his chin to tilt up at Jack. ‘And, and to apologise-’

‘No, Bitty,’ Jack says with concern.

‘-Well, I lost myself for a minute, and I know I was a bit cold to y’all-’

‘No, Bitty, really. You don’t have to be sorry for that.’ Jack brings his big hands back up to grip Bitty by both elbows. ‘I...I should apologise for not… for not letting myself-’

‘Yo, Bits!’ Jack is interrupted by a shout from the front door. ‘Guys! I’m back.’ They can hear Shitty stomping through the foyer and into the living room on his way to the stairs. ‘Where are you fuckers?’ Jack, instead of pulling away, reaches in close and wraps his arms around Bitty’s shoulders, resting his chin on the top of Bitty’s head.

‘I’m glad you liked the cookies,’ he says softly into Bitty’s hair. ‘We’ll talk later, okay?’ He stands back to watch for Bitty’s reaction and finally lets his hands drop as Bitty nods to affirm that yes, they will talk later. Jack is satisfied and brushes past him to head down the hall and meet Shitty on the stairs. ‘Up here, Shits!’ he calls as he walks. Bitty is left standing in the hallway, thoroughly overwhelmed as to how this can be his life right now.

 

Rans and Holster confess to decorating ‘a la Bittle’ as soon as they return from the stop & shop with beer and snacks for a Mario Kart showdown.

‘It’s true!’ Cries Ransom.

‘Twas us!’ Holster adds. They both partake in a complicated high five, fist pump that ends in a chest bump and laugh at themselves uproariously.

‘Well I think it’s fabulous.’ Shitty says from his perch on the Kitchen table. ‘Fuckin’ fabulous.’ He’s looking at Bitty with _knowing_ , smirk firmly in place, watching as Jack takes the spot leaning up against the counter next to BItty, standing so close their hips are touching, the elbow of Bitty’s crossed arms is tucked in against Jack’s waist. He fights the blush threatening to creep up into his cheeks.

‘Y’all are nuts, you know that right? Crazier’n a bag ‘a cats.’ Bitty says, trying his best to look intimidating with his arms folded over his chest and a scowl on his face.

‘You’re adorable.’ Holster croons, ruffling Bitty’s hair with one of his giant hands and laughing as Bitty tries to duck away, only to press right into Jack’s chest.

‘He is, eh?’ Jack says, wrapping an arm around Bitty’s shoulders. Bitty has lost the fight with his blush now, well and truly, and Shitty just laughs as Rans and Holster get into an argument about which one of them thinks Bitty is more adorable.

 

They end up ordering pizza for dinner and spending most of the evening playing games, eventually watching netflix until first the D-men and then Shitty excuse themselves to head off to bed. Bitty is left sitting unreasonably close to Jack on the armchair (he _refuses_ to put his cute, southern behind on the toxic green couch) so that he’s almost, really, in his lap. The night has been slightly surreal for Bitty. Having just got back from the holidays with his parents, feeling like a different version of himself there, still Bitty, but without having said the words ‘I’m gay’, smaller and duller somehow, (Shitty had sent a picture of every member of his family opening a copy of his calendar as their christmas present and it had been hilarious, but it had also highlighted the fact that he couldn’t even give a copy to his own parents) and spending a good chunk of his holiday guessing at what those cookies from Jack had actually meant, he had felt removed from things, just existing somewhat in a state between fantasy and reality. So it's fair to say that Bitty is overly conscious of this deviation from normalcy, and to come home to this strange, affectionate version of Jack, who is right now staring up at Bitty like he’s trying to commit his face to memory, is making it feel almost dreamlike.

‘Bittle, Bitty,’ Jack whispers, inching closer to Bitty, who’s perched on the arm of the chair, ‘can I, can we… try again?’ his chin is level with Bitty’s shoulder and his eyes hold an intensity that somehow also manages to seem full of fondness and hope. It lifts the weight that had been pressing on Bitty ever since the night of the kegster.

‘We haven’t tried a first time yet, Jack.’ He chirps gently.

‘I know,’ he huffs, ‘I just mean, can I have a… a second chance to do this right?’ and he reaches up to cup Bitty’s left cheek gently in his hand.

‘Will you be a little bit careful with me, Jack.’ Bitty asks, in lieu of an answer, because as much as he wants this, he’s also terrified of being broken by a second rejection.  

‘I will, Bits. I promise. You are so precious to me,’ his fingertips stroke down Bitty’s cheek and then slide under his chin to softly draw Bitty closer. ‘I was so scared I would ruin what we had, but I just made everything worse.’

‘You did,’ Bitty says, just enough affection in his voice to take the sting out of it. ‘But we can fix it, honey.’ He slips off the arm of the chair so that his knees rest on Jack’s thighs. He places both hands on Jack’s chest and Jack slides his arms around his waist and snakes his hands up to Bitty’s shoulder blades. They both lean into each other, and slowly, with purpose and longing, their lips meet and press gently together.

 

Jack’s mouth is soft and warm, and so pliant beneath Bitty, he presses deeper still, dragging his tongue across Jack’s bottom lip, separating it to pull at and suck between his own lips. The gasp in Jack’s response allows Bitty to lick into Jack’s mouth, to taste the lingering pineapple from their pizza, the sweetness of the soda that he and Jack had taken instead of beer, and some lurking, unmistakable trace of _Jack_ underneath it all that has Bitty searching, chasing, wanting. It feels _so good_ , the sounds that Jack is making deep in his throat, the shortness of his breath, the squeeze of his arms around Bitty work to quicken his heart, rush blood through his veins, steal the air from his lungs, and he has to pull back before he loses control. Jack follows him just enough to nuzzle his nose against Bitty’s and rest their foreheads together. They are both smiling, struggling to keep their breath even, Bitty’s hands have gripped Jack’s t-shirt and it’s clenched in his fingers. He lets it go and smooths the material with the palms of his hands.

Bitty inhales deeply and backs up a little to look into Jack’s eyes. The absolute adoration that he finds there is overwhelming.

‘Jack.’

‘Bits.’

‘Why did we wait so long to do that?’ he asks as he exhales with a sigh.

‘Because I’m an idiot, Bittle,’ Jack says with a sharp laugh, ‘but lets not wait anymore, okay?’

‘Okay, Jack.’ he agrees with a smile. And he lets Jack stand them up, lets him take his hand, lets him pull him up the stairs and into Jack’s bedroom. And when Jack lays him down onto the mattress, he revels in the feel of Jack’s weight crowding him in, throws his head back at the nip of Jack’s teeth along his throat, arches his back at the touch of Jack’s fingertips sliding up under the hem of his shorts and loves and loves and loves this big crazy lug of a boy.

  


#### Jack

Jack wakes up to the softest, sweetest nest of blonde hair tickling his chin. His arms reach up to slide up and under Bitty’s t-shirt and across the smooth tanned skin he’s been dreaming about for months. The sensation does not disappoint. So warm, so silken, a charge springs to life between Bitty’s skin and Jack’s fingertips as he presses gently along the long, lean lines of Bitty’s back. He breathes in the comfort of vanilla and cinnamon present in Bitty’s hair and curls himself around him, wanting to touch as much of BItty as his body can reach. They’re both still fully dressed, content as they had been to finish their kisses just holding each other close and falling asleep in peaceful satisfaction. Jack knows himself, and knows he will probably panic about the repercussions of taking this step with Bitty, but he also knows in this moment, that whatever happens, it was worth it. If only just for the absolute relief he’s feeling at being free of the tightly wound repressions he had felt so trapped by.

 

    The moment is spectacularly ruined by the explosive presence of one Shitty B Knight as he bursts through their adjoining bathroom door.

    ‘Okay, who are you and what the fuck have you done with my Royal, Hockey Robot?’ He cries dramatically, sweeping into the room with grand hand gestures and pulling up short as soon as he notices the small golden bundle wrapped up in Jack’s arms. ‘Oh SHIT! Jack! Wait right here!’ He whisper yells as he dives back through the bathroom and into his own room. Jack’s not sure where Shitty was expecting him to actually _go,_ nevertheless, he doesn’t move, surprised that Bitty hasn’t woken but wanting to keep him asleep and serene as he is for as long as possible.

Shitty doesn’t keep him waiting long, running back in on tiptoes to thrust a giant piece of cardboard into Jack’s view.

‘You’re gonna need this now, Jaques my love!’ He says, proudly displaying the ‘Marry me Mr August!’ sign, wobbling noisily between his outstretched hands. Jack scowls at Shitty as Bitty stirs, burrowing into Jack’s chest and grumbling sleepily. ‘If you two aren’t the cutest little fuckers,’ Shitty laughs, retreating into the bathroom and closing the door behind him. The damage seems to be done though, when Bitty stirs again and lifts his head up groggily to squint at Jack in momentary confusion.

‘Jack?’

‘Morning, Bits.’

‘Did we fall asleep? What time’s it?’

‘It’s early, baby, go back to sleep,’ he says, stroking his fingers through the shorn hair at the sides of Bitty’s head and laying a soft kiss to the longer, messy hair at the top.

‘Jack?’ Bitty starts, pushing up onto his elbows and grinning wildly, ‘did you just call me, baby?’

‘I, uh…’ He did, actually. Crisse, he hadn’t even meant to, they’d only spent one night together, not even _together,_ just, they hadn’t even discussed dating. Merde, merde, merde, Bitty’s going to think he’s a lunatic.

‘It’s okay,’ Bitty says, smile bright enough now to power the stars. ‘I don’t mind, sweetpea.’ he finishes with a wink. Jack groans at the nickname.

‘Sweetpea? No Bits.’

‘Yes, darlin’. Sweetpea L Sweetpeamann.’ He’s laughing now, presumably at the flush spreading over Jack. Bitty props himself up even further and leans into Jack, ‘what? You don’t like it? Sweetpea?’

Jack retaliates by grabbing Bitty around the waist and flipping them over, pressing him down into the mattress. ‘That’s enough chirping, Bittle.’ he practically growls, mouth inches from Bitty’s throat. Bitty’s responsiveness is breathtaking, arching his back up into Jack, clutching at Jack’s t-shirt, exhaling a soft little moan as Jack rocks his hips gently, just once, into Bitty’s hips.

‘Wait, Jack,’ Bitty says in a rush, pushing a little with his hands at Jack’s chest. Jack complies immediately, anxiety swooping in to sour his happiness.

‘Too much?’

‘No, no! I mean, well, yes, but I just want… can I ask what we’re doing? Like, exactly.’ Bitty looks worried as he asks, jack wonders if it's because he's afraid of the answer.

‘You want to know, if we're a couple?’ Jack asks. Bitty nods carefully.

‘I know, I mean it’s obvious we have feelings for each other. But you have the NHL next year. How could this work?’ Jack takes Bitty's fear seriously, because it's the same fear that keeps Jack awake at night. Kept him hiding for so long.  

‘It's probably going to be hard on you,’ he starts, tentatively.

‘It's alright if you need to keep it a secret, honey. I understand.’

‘You misunderstand me, Bits. I don't want this, you, to be a secret.’

‘You don't?’

‘No.’ He brushes Bitty’s fringe back. ‘I’ve already spoken to George about it.’

‘George?’

‘Georgia Martin, from the Falconers.’ Bitty’s eyes widen. ‘She says we'll both need to do media training. I don't want us to make a statement or anything-’

‘You don't want to make a statement...’ Bitty echoes in a whisper.

‘I think we should just go about our business and be honest if people ask us about it.’

‘You spoke to the Falconers about this?’ Bitty still sounds shocked.

‘Yeah.’

‘And they’re okay with this?’ Jack nods. He won’t be the first gay player in the league (he knows from personal experience) but he will be the first to be open about it. It's honestly terrifying, but also such a relief. Jack's sure that desperately trying to keep his sexuality secret would be more stressful than actually just dealing with the rampant homophobia of the sports world head on.

‘They’ve been really supportive so far.’

Bitty is smiling now and bites his bottom lip as he stares up at Jack. ‘So does that mean… we _are_ a couple?’ he asks coyly.

‘Well, didn't you see my sign, Mister August?’ Bitty looks over in the direction of Jack’s gaze and smacks him across the chest when he see’s the ‘Marry me’ sign leaning up against his desk.

‘You ridiculous boy!’ Bitty drawls, and Jack drinks in the warmth of his accent. He pushes Jack up gently and slips gracefully out from underneath him. ‘You're going to need to feed me, if you insist on chirping me like this.’ Jack must look disappointed because Bitty pulls him up to sit in the edge of the bed and then sneaks in to stand between his knees. ‘We have nearly six months of living across the hall from each other, sweetpea, plenty of time for all this,’ and he punctuates that by leaning in to kiss Jack long and languid. He tucks the hair behind Jack's ears with one hand on either side. ‘Come and have breakfast with me.’

Jack is in no position to argue.

 

Bitty cooks pancakes at the stove and Jack, powerless against the strength of those tiny shorts (with, he's sure, equally tiny underwear underneath) is running his fingers up and down the outside of his outrageously stunning thighs below the hem. ‘I'll have you know, that is extremely distracting, Mister Zimmermann.’ Bitty says, attempting to flip and almost (almost) failing.

‘I’ll say!’ says a voice from the doorway and they both spin around to see Lardo with her arms crossed. ‘Exactly how long have I been gone for?’

‘Lardo!’ Bitty cries, abandoning his pan for a second to hug her and kiss her twice on the cheek. Jack makes an effort to look her in the eye and not flinch. ‘We’re making pancakes,’ Bitty says with a flourish of his spatula.

‘Oh is that what this is?’ She gestures at Jack’s hands, itching now to get back to their exploration. Jack looks at Bitty, who seems to be handing the reigns to Jack on this one.

‘I’m just offering my boyfriend some moral support while he cooks,’ Jack says, raising his eyebrow in challenge. Bitty preens at the description, puffing his chest out slightly and smiling up at Jack.

‘Ah, well then, by all means, carry on,’ Lardo replies, smug grin widening as she reaches up to kiss Jack on the cheek and punch Bitty jovially on the arm. ‘I’ll just be up in Shitty’s room.’

‘Okay, well tell him we’ve got pancakes!’ Bitty cries after her, ‘and holler at the other boys while you're up there!’

‘Will do!’ She calls back, taking the stairs two at a time.

‘Boyfriends huh?’ Bitty asks as he turns back to the stove, Jack just kisses him at the nape of his neck in response. ‘I like the sound of that.’

‘Me too, Bits, me too.’

 

    ‘What. The. Hell!’ Ransom exclaims as he and Holster come running into the kitchen.

    ‘Is this for real?’ Holster asks, looking between Bitty and Jack with concern. Jack and Bitty share a glance and then both nod at the pair of D-men in Bitty’s kitchen.

    ‘Holy shit! Really!’

    ‘Oh my god! Congratulations!’ They both rush in to lock Jack and Bitty in a giant, four man bear hug. ‘Are we...like are we telling people about this, or what?’ Holster asks as Ransom slaps Jack across the back in salute, in case the bear hug hadn’t been torturous enough.

    ‘I mean, we’re not announcing it in the paper or anything, but it’s not a secret.’

    ‘Oh, dude, Chowder is gonna flip!’ Holster starts texting someone, presumably the frogs, hands flicking furiously across his screen. The mood of the house is joyful by the time the frogs arrive for their pancakes and the big ‘surprise’. Jack can’t keep the smile off his face as his and Bitty's fingers are laced together under the table, resting in Bitty’s lap. Each managing to eat their maple syrup coated pancakes one handed.

‘Pancakes!’ Chowder says with record levels of enthusiasm.

‘So?’

‘What's the big surprise?’ Nursey and Dex ask as they follow Chow through the door.

Jack lifts his and Bitty's clasped hands above the table. Dex immediately looks at Bitty with understanding (further food for thought, Jack will never stop being surprised by how close these two seem) but the other frogs are still looking a little lost.  

‘Jack and I,’ Bitty says to Chowder with a smile, ‘are dating.’

Chowder gasps dramatically and comes running around the table to hug Bitty and stops short of doing the same to Jack, choosing instead to pat him awkwardly on the shoulder.  

‘Jesus, you two are gonna be like a power couple now,’ Nursey quips without any real bite. ‘Between the Zimmermann legacy and Mister August over here, we'll be beating fans away with sticks at every game.’

    ‘So true, brah,’ Shitty says sagely, ‘so fucking true.’

 

    Later that night, Bitty and Jack curl up in Jack’s bed and fall asleep wrapped around each other. Well, they’re almost asleep. Jack can hear Bitty’s breathing slow and even, but he can also feel his thumb running back and forth over Jack’s knuckles. It’s possibly the most calming sensation he’s ever felt in his life.

    ‘Jack?’ Bitty says quietly, warm breath falling across Jack’s collar bone.

    ‘Yeah, Bits?’

    ‘I’m gonna have to tell my parents about us. About me.’ Oh. Jack hadn’t even factored that into his plan. One day in, and Jack is already a terrible boyfriend.

    ‘ _Crisse_ Bits, I wasn’t thinking! We don’t have to tell anybody else. We can-’

    ‘Jack, honey, it’s okay. I want to.’

    ‘But, Bitty… are you, are you sure?’ Jack can hear Bitty’s voice waver with a fear belied by his words. ‘We can wait till you’re ready. I don’t want you to feel rushed.’

    ‘I’m ready, Jack,’ he said with resolve. ‘I didn’t have a reason to tell them before now, honey, but you, you’re the best reason I can think of.’ Those words run through Jack like liquid sunshine. He pulls Bitty impossibly closer and just breathes him in, reaching down to tilt his head up so that he can kiss him softly and tenderly.

    ‘ _Je pense que je t’aime’_ Jack says under his breath. ‘ _Je pense que je t’aime depuis un moment maintenant.’_  Bitty is quiet enough that Jack thinks he’s finally gone to sleep, until he feels Bitty’s hand reach up to cup his cheek.

    ‘I think so too, sweetpea. I think I love you too.’

  
Jack lets the tear slip silently down his face as he realises, for the first time in his life, he might actually get to have everything he’s ever wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation: Pretty much, Jack is saying, I think I love you, I think I've loved you for a while now. 
> 
> And perhaps I should clarify, Bitty doesn't necessarily understand the literal translation, but he kinda understands Jack, because they have an amazing connection... just go with it...  
>  
> 
> Well, that's all folks!
> 
> Thanks to everyone for the comments and the love, I got so much joy out of sharing this with you.
> 
> I just love these boys and this fandom so much.


End file.
